Time Stranger

by Elyse Douglas

  The insult cut him like a knife, and he stood, hurt and wounded. His eyes flashed with rage, and he opened his mouth to attack, but stopped, closed his mouth and looked away. The quiet between them expanded into a pulsing bitterness.

  CHAPTER 13

  Anne rested in a soft, leather recliner, tilted back, her eyes closed. It was a spare room, with a snow-white carpet, bare walls and large amethyst crystals placed in each corner of the room. Navy blue curtains were drawn against natural light; the only illumination came from three, evenly spaced candles in elaborate candlestick holders that sat on the black marble mantel. The trembling flames washed the walls in dancing, shadowy patterns. The room was so quiet that Anne could hear the ringing in her ears.

  While Anne waited nervously, Melly sat in a high-backed chair, identical to the one in the parlor. Her eyes were shut; she whispered inaudible words and waved a thin hand in the air, and then reached an arm out, as though something or someone approached.

  Anne felt foolish and uncomfortable, sorry she’d agreed to surrender herself to this weird woman. Melly’s incessant whispers seemed to go on forever, hovering in the surrounding air. Anne rearranged herself and then folded her hands and placed them on her lap.

  Minutes later, she heard Melly’s chair creak, and she opened her eyes to see that the woman was standing at the foot of the chair, her face in shadow. Her eyes bulged as she stared in wonder and stern suspicion.

  There was a crackling tension in the air, similar to that before an approaching electrical storm and its heavy rains. It was unnerving and palpable. Anne was about to speak up when Melly beat her to it. Her voice had changed. It sounded rusty, strained and faraway, even though the woman was directly in front of her.

  “You should have died…” Melly said, her eyes not moving.

  Startled, Anne lifted her head, not sure she’d heard correctly. “What did you say?”

  Melly leaned in closer, her breathing deep. “Death was all about you… I see that. I see the death and destruction. I hear the cries and the terror bombs falling. Yes. In that bomb blast, the very ether cracked and ripped open. Time and space split open for only a moment, and, in that flash, you were thrust through the opening into a death, into a birth, into another world and another time.”

  Anne stared, nausea twisting her gut. She rested her head back, trying to relax.

  “How can it be?” Melly asked, her face wadded up in anguish, her eyes shifting from side to side. “How?

  Anne swallowed.

  “I’m asking my guides now,” Melly said, a hand reaching out to her right, her fingers wriggling… “So we must wait.”

  Anne’s skin was crawling with goose pimples. She began to shiver, terrified of what Melly might say next.

  “There’s no answer from them. My guides won’t speak to me now. There are secrets, things that should not have happened. An accident distorted time.”

  Anne waited, her hands gripping either side of the recliner, squeezing so tightly her knuckles were white and her hands ached.

  Melly made a little cry of pain and Anne flinched. As if pushed by unseen hands, Melly staggered and blundered back to her chair, sitting heavily. She was mouth-breathing through clenched teeth.

  “Tell me… How? Why?” Melly said to the walls, to the ceiling. “We must help this girl. Tell me!”

  Anne sat up, her face damp, the hair standing up on the back of her neck. A rush of cold wind whooshed across her face, and it changed the quality of the silence. The air—the wind—seemed alive. The candle flames jumped and flickered.

  On impulse, Anne pushed herself out of the chair and started for the door. Melly’s voice stopped her.

  “Wait!”

  Anne stopped, not breathing, her back to Melly. She didn’t turn when she heard Melly leave her chair and approach.

  When Melly finally spoke, her voice was hoarse and low, as if she were awakening from a deep sleep. “Please sit down, Ms. Billings… Please. Don’t leave now. I have some answers. Please stay and hear me out.”

  It was the word “answers” that kept Anne from reaching for the doorknob. Reluctantly, she returned to the chair and sat on the arm of the recliner, erect as a soldier, fearing what was to come.

  Melly came toward Anne with a strange and vivid smile. “My dear… In all my years piercing the veil of the dead and the living, and in all the stories that were told to me by my grandmother, I have never come across such a mystery as yours. How do I tell you what even my guides tried to keep from me? I should not have seen your truth, but it came swiftly, in a racing torrent, before my guides could turn off the flow.”

  Anne’s eyes were locked onto Melly’s penetrating gaze, a gaze cast in a deep, glowing wonder, lit by the candlelight.

  “Anne… you are out of place and out of time. I have never seen a thing as this and I do not understand it, nor will my guides explain it to me.”

  Anne did not move. “I don’t know what you mean. Out of time and out of place?”

  Melly searched for words. “At first, I thought you were experiencing a past life, but you are not. No. What you told me… your memories about the year 1942 and 1944, are not fragments from a past life. The bomb blast that sent you forward in time happened in 1944. My dear one, listen to me carefully and try to understand. It is not a past life you are experiencing, but it is your current life, trapped in another time, 2008.”

  Anne felt the impact of Melly’s words like a physical blow to her heart. She felt faint and floating and frightened to death. She stammered out words. “Wha… What do you mean, trapped?”

  “Listen to me, Anne Billings. I saw what happened to you clearly, as if I were watching it on TV. You were caught in an air raid in London in 1944. Yes, that is true. You were holding the hand of your child, your boy, when the bombs began to fall, and you had no time to escape to an air raid shelter.”

  At the sound of the words, “your boy,” Anne felt the truth of it—seeing Tommy’s face. It was raw and shattering, and the knifing pain in her heart was excruciating.

  Melly continued. “One bomb ripped the boy from your hand. Another exploded close to you. That blast should have killed you, but it didn’t. Instead, there was an anomaly in the rippling currents of time that I have no explanation for. Do I speculate that the fates, or God, or whatever you want to call it, made a mistake? Just a tiny little mistake? I don’t know.”

  Anne tried to swallow away a lump but failed. Every nerve in her body was on fire.

  Melly continued. “The bomb fractured the air and split open the fabric of time and space at precisely the same moment that you were blown off your feet. You tumbled through one single opening of unstable air—a narrow opening—and then you were tossed into the splashing stream of another time and place, perhaps a parallel stream of time. You were as a leaf blown from a tree, falling into the wrong stream and carried off into the future… into this time of 2008.”

  Anne listened in an agony, considering the punishing truth of Melly’s words. Her deep-drawn breaths did little to stabilize her chaotic mind. It was as if Melly had lit a fuse and it was burning toward dynamite. Anne braced for impact. When the detonation came, a big flash in her mind, all hidden things were poured out in an explosion of bodies, laughter, screams and memories. Anne knew it would either destroy her or heal her.

  Her mind blasted awake, the debris of faces and houses and airplanes circling about her like a kid’s spinning mobile. She recognized the people and knew their names, their voices, their histories. She saw images play out as if on a movie screen—and they were real events that had happened, and she was in them, animated and alive. Holidays, marriages, newborn babies, funerals, all swiftly came and went. Her son, Tommy, rushed up to her, giggling into a hand, then raced away and disappeared into one of the amethyst crystals.

  Melly pressed on, and Anne strained to concentrate.

  “Because of this anomaly, your life was spared. You were found, and you were administered better care and medicine than yo
u would have received in 1944, and consequently, you are alive. Alive and marooned in another time and place where you are not supposed to be. Anne… You have died and been reborn. You have time traveled from 1944 to 2008 and survived.”

  Anne felt the tears blur her vision and roll down her cheeks. “I remember him now. I remember my son, Tommy.”

  Her head dropped, and she sobbed into her hand. Melly stepped over, offering her a tissue, and while Anne cried into it, Melly gently stroked Anne’s hair.

  “Cry it all out, my dear. Just let it all come out.”

  Melly remained at her side, whispering comfort, while the tears poured out of Anne in spasms of anguish.

  When the emotion finally began to drain away, Anne sat up, blotting her eyes.

  “You’ll need time to rest and think,” Melly said, soothingly.

  Anne struggled to her feet on wobbly legs. As Melly held her hand, she swayed and almost fell, dropping back down into the chair.

  “Take it easy, my dear. You’ve had a shock.”

  Determined, Anne stood again, but a second wave of cascading memories poured in. The truth, the pain and the loss all came crashing down, scene after scene: her childhood, her parents, her husband, Basil Wilkinson, whose Spitfire had been shot down over the English Channel in August 1940.

  She fought her trembling mouth and then gave up as new tears flooded her eyes, her face creased with pain. “Oh, my God. They’re all dead. My son, Tommy… My husband, Basil. My parents. Kenneth… They’re all dead.”

  The world began to spin, and white lights swam across her eyes. It was all too much to bear, and Anne wilted. Melly caught her under the arms and strained to lower her down into the chair. With effort, she tilted back the recliner and gently leaned Anne back so that she rested comfortably, her breathing labored, her pulse high, her lips moving in little mumbles of grief.

  Melly glanced about, as if seeking help from her invisible guides. “Where have you gone to? Why do you leave now when I need you?”

  Melly glanced at the door. She would have to go out and ask for help.

  CHAPTER 14

  Constance and Jon found Melly in her kitchen, pouring water from a yellow tea kettle into a teapot. Jon entered and sat on a stool at the kitchen island, while Constance stood by the entrance, watching the steam rise from the teapot. She lifted her irritable eyes toward the skylight where late afternoon sun streamed in.

  “How is she?” Melly asked.

  Constance’s mouth was tightly shut. There was much she wanted to say to Melly, but she’d decided to keep it to herself, at least until Anne was well enough to get out and away from the house.

  “She’s resting well now,” Jon said.

  He looked at Constance. “I don’t think she’ll be ready to leave, at least not until tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Constance said. “Of course we’ll leave. She’ll wake up in an hour or so and we’ll go. The car will be waiting.” Melly glanced over but remained silent. Constance had already had one outburst, and Melly did not want to experience another.

  “The tea will be ready in five minutes or so. Shall I make some sandwiches? I also have cheese, fresh fruit and crackers.”

  “I’d love some cheese and fruit,” Jon said.

  “I’ll just have tea,” Constance said, crisply.

  “Please come in and sit down, Constance,” Melly offered.

  Constance paused a moment before doing so, sitting across the island from Jon.

  “I thought you said you needed to get back to the hospital, Jon,” Constance said.

  “I called in and got someone else to cover for me. I want to make sure Anne is feeling better.”

  There was silence until after the tea was poured and Melly had artistically displayed cheese, crackers, fruit and sliced baguette on a cheese plate.

  “We can move to the dining room if you think that might be more comfortable,” Melly said.

  They all agreed they’d stay in the kitchen, and there was no small talk. Constance finally broke the silence. “Why do you still refuse to tell us what you told Anne, Mrs. Pasternak?” she asked curtly.

  Melly’s voice was calm, but firm. “As I explained earlier, I think Anne should tell you herself when she is recovered and ready to discuss it. I don’t feel comfortable telling you, nor do I think it is proper for me to share what I know is a highly painful and personal experience.”

  Jon was every bit as curious to know what had happened to Anne as Constance was and, in his own way, he was also peeved with Melly for not explaining why Anne had fainted. But he was intrigued. Something dramatic had happened. He knew that fact as soon as he’d rushed into the room and seen Anne lying in the chair, her face damp with perspiration and her color as white as snow. And she kept crying out, “Tommy… Tommy… where are you?”

  “I will tell you both this,” Melly said, her teacup close to her lips. “She is going to need caring for, and she’s going to need patient understanding. I would further suggest that, when she tells you her story, you do not question her, nor share that story with anyone else.”

  Constance looked away with disgust. “Of course she’ll be cared for, and of course I will be patient with her. She’ll have the best of care.”

  They fell into an awkward silence that wasn’t broken until Constance saw Anne standing in the doorway, staring. Constance shot up and went to her. Melly lifted her chin curiously, and Jon left his stool and approached, his eyes exploring.

  “How are you, Anne?” Constance asked, noticing her sleepy eyes. “You still look pale.”

  And then Constance saw it, and Jon saw it. They exchanged furtive glances to confirm their observations.

  Anne had changed; her face was transformed. Where there had once been meek confusion and sad fatigue, there was now certainty and grim determination.

  Melly slowly rose and stood in place, appraising Anne’s expression.

  Constance was unsure and gently startled. “Anne… What has happened?”

  Anne looked first at Constance, then to Jon and then to Melly.

  To Melly, she said, “Did you tell them, Mrs. Pasternak?”

  Even Anne’s voice was changed; it was deeper, stronger and more confident.

  Melly shook her head. “No, Anne, I didn’t tell them. That’s for you to tell or not to tell.”

  Anne smiled her gratitude. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Tell us what?” Constance asked, noticeably uneasy. “What is going on? Why all this dramatic intrigue? Will someone please just tell me what happened in there?”

  Jon pretended casualness, but he was worried. “Why don’t you sit down, Anne? Have some tea and something to eat.”

  Without a word, Anne did so. Melly retrieved a cup and saucer from the cupboard and poured her a cup. “It’s English Breakfast. I thought you might like it,” Melly said, with a private smile.

  Anne smiled her reply.

  Constance was losing patience. “It’s rude to keep this between the two of you.”

  Anne added milk and sugar to her tea and stirred, avoiding Constance’s probing gaze.

  “You’re right, Constance. You should be told,” Anne said. “Jon should be told.”

  Anne rested her eyes on Melly. “Would you please tell Constance and Miles, Mrs. Pasternak? I don’t believe I have sufficiently recovered to… Well, to explain what truly cannot be explained.”

  Jon Miles returned to his seat, waiting.

  Constance did not move, but an eyebrow was arched expectantly, and her expression said, “Get on with it.”

  Melly sat, offering a tight smile. “I will tell you what transpired, but I will not try to explain it, and I ask that you not interrupt until I have finished. Is that agreed?”

  “Whatever,” Constance said.

  Jon nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Mrs. Crowne, I suggest you sit down,” Melly said. “The truth of Anne’s story will not be easy for you to take.”

  Constance blew out an
annoyed breath and sat down next to Anne, who continued to stir her tea. She had yet to take a sip.

  When Melly began, she didn’t look directly at anyone. She stared into the distance as if entranced, selecting her words carefully, building to the moment when she first pierced the veil of Anne’s troubled mind and began to see into her past.

  When Melly described Anne and her son, Tommy, walking briskly along the sidewalk, her voice held tenderness. It took on strength and fear as she pointed toward the ceiling, where she witnessed the low rumble of the approaching German bombers.

  As the bombs exploded all around her, Melly shrank down, her eyes darting about as if she were desperately searching for shelter. She pointed, her eyes widening in fear and her breath puffing in and out.

  Constance sat on the edge of anxiety, struggling to process what she was hearing. Jon stared in utter fascination. Anne continued to stir her tea, her eyes wide open and fixed ahead.

  Melly concluded the story, her attention focused inward, her speech coming in fits and starts as she described how Anne had been blown into the air, while death, terror and the chaos of war were all around her.

  Constance gave Melly a squinting leer when the woman described how Anne had burst through a ripped fabric of time in 1944 and had dropped onto the grass in Central Park in 2008, injured and close to death.

  Melly finished the story with effort, as the energy seemed to have drained from her. Her chin dropped onto her chest, and she inhaled several deep, calming breaths.

  Jon looked at Melly with doubt and speculation. He glanced at Anne. She sat in a drooping despondency, the spoon still in her hand, not moving, her eyes glazed with fatigue.

  Constance shook her head in slow disbelief, her careful attention on Anne. She reached for her hand and held it. “We need to get you home, Anne. You’ll feel so much better there. I’ll order us a lavish dinner and, after you eat, you can go straight to bed and sleep for as long as you like. Sleep for an entire week if you want. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed every morning. You’ll forget all this… this ridiculous fantasy, and we’ll move on and start planning your future.”